


I Am as Blind as a Man Can Be

by Skeppsbrott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, F/M, Interracial Relationship, JKR built Harry Potter on a conservative worldview and this canon has been adhered to, Minor Original Character(s), Morally Flawed Percy Weasley, Muggle/Wizard Relations, POV Third Person, Percy Weasley-centric, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), wizard supremacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeppsbrott/pseuds/Skeppsbrott
Summary: As tensions rise in wizard Britain, Percy finds respite in his budding relationship with a muggle woman, forcing him to re-negotiate the terms on which he chose his independence.Attempting a sincere and sober look at the era for the Deathly Hollows through Percy's perspective. Compliant to the letter of canon, though perhaps not the spirit. Writing as I go, tags will be added as I become aware of them but general rating and main warnings will remain unchanged.
Relationships: Audrey Weasley/Percy Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. My Situation is Dire

**Author's Note:**

> _Failing in love isn't the same as not loving. It doesn't let you off the hook. It doesn't mean... you're free to not love._  
>  -Tony Kushner, Angels in America: Perestroika

> _Percy—_
> 
> _I am afraid that I am writing to you with bad news: you will not be invited to the wedding, or to any of the related celebrations. As much as I had hoped that the wedding would be taking place in brighter times, Fleur and I both agree that if anything, we could all use a cause for celebration. Unfortunately, with the current situation, this also means that you cannot be present. Aside from the seemingly more menial concerns, it is also a matter of the safety of us and our guests._
> 
> _Though me and Charlie made the decision not to cut you off or chastise you, I also have to be honest with you and say that that decision is becoming more and more difficult to honour, not just emotionally but also practically. Family and politics aside, I’m not sure you realize what you are doing to yourself. Maybe this will be a wake-up call._
> 
> _Hopefully there will come other opportunities for us all to celebrate together._
> 
> _Take care,  
>  Bill_

* * *

The letter is not really a surprise. Percy rests the spoon against his lower lip as he reads it again. “Reads” is not quite accurate, rather his eyes carefully trace the movement of Bill’s hand over the parchment. He looks for where the ink shifts, from refills or because Bill has rested on the quill, tries to look for hidden meanings. There are rarely hidden meanings with Bill, however, a quality he usually appreciates but which now feels stifling. In the beginning of all this he would meet with especially Bill but also Charlie fairly often. They would meet for lunch or dinner or just walks where they would have long conversations about their family or about life after Hogwarts or about the magical world or about politics or about morality. Recently, though, the conversations are shorter. The owls are fewer. He reads the letter once more, measuring the ink as if there could literally be extra length hidden within the potential excess of it on the page. This is when Percy is interrupted.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

Her accent is a very distinct type of London that he might have been able to pinpoint had he been born and bred in this city. He opens his mouth and realizes he has not the faintest idea of how to replay. “Uh. Sorry?”

London girl hesitates for a moment, during which Percy comes to the realization that the pub is coming to life in the way it only does as Friday evening begins, and that maybe even this quite modest set of robes does not pass for muggle wear. “No, I was- You seemed a bit lost and…” He realizes that she is looking at the parchment and the rust-red ink on it, so he turns it face down on the table. “…My bad, really. I shouldn’t’ve interrupted.”

“No,” he says. “That’s alright. I suppose ‘lost’ isn’t all wrong.” She has one hand fidgeting with her hair and wrapping the tight curls around her fingers. As he speaks, her expression shifts from embarrassment to relief, taking on this gentle curiosity that has him feeling… some sort of way. “I actually-“ he continues, much in the same way as when you haven’t said anything out loud for a day or two and you are unsure if your voice will bear. “I received some bad news. It isn’t anything unexpected, but nonetheless.”

London girl nods slowly. “I’m sorry to hear,” she says. It sounds a lot like an invitation and though maybe he is just imagining it, it is February of 1997 and Percy Weasley has not had anyone ask if he is okay in a long, long while.

“Thank you,” he replies, immediately failing to contain himself. “My brother is getting married and I’m not invited.”

She sits down and looks him over. “I’m sorry,” she says again, before catching herself. “I mean I’m an only child myself, but that sounds really… Are you not getting along?”

Percy pushes the since long empty soup bowl towards the bartender. “You could say that. Rest of the family, mostly. It’s a long story.” She is still observing him. He is not used to people observing him, at least not like this. “I, uh, thank you for asking.”

“Of course. Or actually I saw you and you stood out a little bit from the crowd, and it made me curious, and I guess that’s why I noticed. Audrey.”

Muggle London girl reaches out her hand, so he takes it. “Percy. I worked late so I just stopped by for something to eat.”

“Oh, so it’s a uniform? Are you in law?”

“You know what? My job is the only thing I am talking to anyone about these days and to be frank with you it’s terribly boring.”

“That’s fair. I’m waiting for some friends, she just got dumped so- I suppose that’s why I’m kinda tuned in to people being a bit down? Anyway, if you wanted to come along for a pick-me-up I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Audrey is wearing a pale denim jacket, a short dress, and combat boots. It is at this point that Percy realizes that she is very pretty. This is not the kind of thing that usually happens to him. In fact, nothing like it has never happened to him before, so his gut reaction is a resounding “thanks but no thanks”. Percy is not the kind of guy who “goes out”, let alone with strangers, strange muggles at that. Percy is the kind of guy who works late on a Friday evening to not become a suspect actor when his family name becomes yet closer associated to groups which the Ministry of Magic are about to label as “terrorist”. Percy is the kind of guy who works late on a Friday evening because the alternative of cooking dinner for one and spending the whole weekend engrossed in a book is beginning to lose its glamour of independence.

It is this absolute perplexment at even the suggestion of joining this London stranger and her even stranger friends for a non-magical night out in the big city that makes him hesitate. Of course Audrey would not know that about him, she does not know anything about him, or his family.

So why not?

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not joking!” she says, lighting up into a smile and inexplicably he feels himself mirror it.

“No?”

“No! Who do you take me for, Percy?”

“I don’t know, Audrey, who do you take _me_ for?”

“Someone who needs a distraction? Especially if you’re in law.”

“Bureaucracy.”

“My _God_ , your situation is dire!”

“I guess that leaves me with no choice then, does it?”

“Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, but according to my calculations one option is clearly the better one.”

“What are you, then?”

“An interior designer. Is that a yes?”

Percy hesitates again. He diverts his eyes from hers to linger on the letter before folding it up and slipping it into the inner pocket of his cloak. His brain is all Percy. Painfully predictably Percy, with objections about having to change into something more muggle-appropriate, about how he does not know these people, about how maybe they want to go to a club and he does not like the music they play at clubs or at least the music he thinks they play at clubs and he especially does not like dancing and he _especially_ does not like dancing with the kind of people who go out clubbing. Then he remembers the prefect common room.

1993\. Cedric Diggory’s birthday. Roger Davies had smuggled in drinks. With the radio turned up loud and for once they had all gotten along. Cedric had smiled from ear to ear the whole night. When Percy and Oliver left for the Gryffindor dorms, the sun was rising and the couches full of prefects giggling like you only do when about to give in to sleep. Percy ran into Dumbledore a few days later: “I heard that there was a birthday celebration among the prefects for Mr. Diggory?”, he had asked with that knowing look that only he had mastered. Percy had been stunned, flustering as he scrambled for excuses, reasons as to why he had not intervened. “I was happy to hear it. It strengthens me to hear, Mr. Weasley, that you all understand the delight and importance of coming together across the houses, especially among the prefects and Quidditch captains.” Of course, sir. He never told anyone.

“Yeah,” he tells Audrey, strange and pretty London muggle, tasting the words as they leave him and feeling unexpectedly invigorated. “I believe it is.”


	2. She is in Constant Movement

“Audrey speaking.”

“Um, hullo, it’s-“

“Percy?! I was starting to think that rational mind you told me about was getting the better of you.”

Percy clears his throat. “I don’t have a phone.”

Outside the air has that patent British dampness, a rain that hangs fixed in the air rather than falling any particular direction and is thus impossible to guard oneself from. “What?” Audrey laughs at the other end and it comes through with a particular echo-y quality which makes him wonder if that is simply the state of muggle communications or if it is this receiver that has seen better days.

“I don’t have a phone and I didn’t realize- I didn’t get around to finding a phone box until now. But I did always mean to call. It was very kind of you to invite me.”

“Better late than never. It seemed like you had a good time so I was a bit bummed out I didn’t hear from you.”

“Oh, I did. Sorry.”

There is a moment of silence through the wire. Percy turns the coins in his hand, glancing up at the machine, thinking to himself that if there is any fairness in this world he will not have inherited his father’s ironic inability to deal with any sort of muggle technology. He slots another coin in for good measure. “That’s alright,” Audrey says, then: “You seriously don’t have a phone? Is this part of the whole cult-y family thing?”

“What’s wrong with writing a letter?”

“Well, sometimes you think of someone and your brain becomes so engrossed with them you just have to hear their voice.” The static sound sparks in his ear. On the road outside a car horn blows. The windows of the box are fogging up and he understands exactly: as with a friend’s face in the green flames of a floo-fire, or their voice through a howler, it is as if she is right there with him. Only she is right by his face, talking into his ear and only to him, like he remembers standing in the cigarette smoke outside of the club and waiting for her friends to get their jackets. “You know?”

“I do.”

“Have you got any favourite spots in London yet?”

“Nothing worth sharing, I’m afraid.”

“Lucky you I do, then. When are you free?”

Now that he has confirmed the numbers scrawled on his arm was not just residual delusion from a fever dream? Anytime. He slots another coin into the machine. “Thursday?”

“Perfect!”

* * *

Audrey is in constant motion. It seems like that to Percy at least. She is meeting people, working, doing things. Little by little, it leaks into his life, making him realize that the time between the end of the working day and the following morning can actually be filled with a lot, only one cares to go out looking for things to do. As much as it embarrasses him that he never has anywhere else to be, she always seems delighted when she calls him up to come join her and her friends for something and he is inevitably available, a joy he sees no reason to deprive her of.

Percy has never seen so much of the world. Between movies and pub quizzes, winter has never been over so quickly. “My friend has two extra tickets to Manic Street Preachers, are you coming?” Of course he is. Audrey introduces him to Walter and Gigi and Marvin (“oh, that’s right, you already met Marvin- that first night, remember?”) and it is like nothing he has ever experienced before. It is the energy that runs through him when finally mastering a difficult spell, feeling the magic rushing from his core and through his arm out into the wand, releasing into the wild. Only in this tightly packed venue the air is electric with it, coming at them from the men on stage through guitars and rhythm, received by the crowd which moves as one being and returned to the band. When she asks him how he liked the band he tells her honestly that he had been expecting to feel like the weird one out but in a way he had managed to disappear into the tumultuous crowd. She nods, licks the salt from a chip off her finger, rests her feet against his shin under the table. Then he tells her just as honestly that he never thought of himself as a music person but that maybe he does not have to be one, maybe he can just go to concerts and enjoy the band and be astonished with the experience. Audrey laughs. “I liked them,” she says. “More than when I’ve heard their records. Nicky Wire is cute, too, we got eye contact for a moment. D’you think I’d have a chance?” He gives her a look so unmaskedly devastated that Marvin erupts into a fit of barking laughter. It is two in the morning and they are in a kebab shop in east London and when Audrey smiles at him, Percy is mortified and elated and completely normal. Walking home she holds him by the elbow. She reaches almost up to his shoulder. They kiss good-bye and her braids fall over the back of his hand when he reaches up to touch her. “I wasn’t serious about Nicky Wire, you know,” she says and it makes her sound as flustered as he feels. “I’m a bit weak for guys in dresses, that’s all.” Percy does not correct her, tell her that what she has seen him in a few times now is a robe and not a dress, instead he leans into the warm space they are creating between them in the cool hours before dawn. Maybe, he makes a mental note to himself, being special is not about what he thought it was.

* * *

On Monday morning he dreams of plastering his desk with Audrey. Frozen muggle photos of this one moment in his life which is somehow both his most painful and joyous. He does not, of course, because he is a professional and public face for the Minister of Magic and additionally, the tone used about humans without magical inheritance is becoming exponentially harsher. Rufus Scrimgeour flips through the weekly report Percy has put together for him as usual, about to dismiss him in such routine fashion that Percy has already turned to the door when he is called on. “One moment, Mr. Weasley.”

“Sir?”

Scrimgeour stacks the wad of papers against the desk before putting it down. “I noticed you have been doing less overtime lately,” he says as he tests his quill. “How are things with your family?”

“Well, I haven’t heard anything new so I suppose they would be fine. As for my time I have been spending more of it on… feeling at home here in London. Would you need more hours from me, sir?”

Scrimgeour does not look up from the schedules and reports. “As long as the work gets done, Mr. Weasley. I was just curious.”

Percy gives a short nod. Since their unsuccessful visit at The Burrow over Christmas, the questions from the Minister about the Weasley family have become scarcer. A relief, but what work Percy seems to have these days is the work he makes for himself out of the countless PM’s and letters that go through him and into the Minister’s office. “Anything else, sir?”

“That’s all.”


	3. We Are A Wizards' Government

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Antisemitism by proxy  
> In this chapter goblins feature as part of political conversation. The Harry Potter books’ portrayals of goblins are steeped in antisemitism and as consequence, chunks of the dialogue here reflects that. Some readers may want to proceed with caution.

Malcolm Barter is a friend of convenience these days. He is at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a few years older than Percy, with a grit and cynical optimism that at the dawn of his path as a career-oriented adult wizard was inspiring but has since become unpleasant in a manner that is difficult to describe. Outside the window of the restaurant, a few shopkeepers are putting off work to chat and bask in the cool sunshine of early spring making its way down this narrow part of Diagon Alley. “At the end of the day,” he continues, eyes lingering on a wizard who has paused in the street to check things off an improbably long scroll of parchment, “we are responsible to the witches and wizards of this country. We are a wizards' government. Goblins and all the other Beings currently complaining about being excluded have historically refused to allow themselves to be represented by us, so it is quite the bold move to come to us now with these concerns, don’t you think?”

Percy, who just put the glass to his mouth, shrugs at the rhetorical question. Malcolm politely waits to see if he has anything to interject before continuing but Percy cannot bring himself to debate him on the technicalities of his statement: while it might be true that the attempts of negotiating the rights of goblins to work within the Ministry are as old as the Ministry’s direct collaboration with the muggle governments, any offers have inevitably included the demand of goblins permanently giving up their appeal for the lifting of the wand-ban, with the latest propositions declared as “degrading” and “embarrassingly ignorant” by goblin press. Malcolm continues.

“Now, I am not saying that these concerns are pulled from the air, clearly there are unsavoury forces in motion here. Dark forces which the ministry have been very proactive in addressing once reliable information has been in place and which this exact proposition is all about, in fact I think it has some of the most aggressive measures of protection I have ever seen, working in this department. That said, I think it is quite transparent that, for the goblins especially, these concerns are mostly just an opportunity for political gain. It is quite obvious that especially the new regulations which they are so concerned about, really only affects magic users who are actually living part of their lives in the non-magical world…“ Another truth by technicality. Percy scoops up the last of the sauce on his plate onto a potato. “...this playing up the supposed guilt of the Ministry, creating a… victim complex, really. It really is about time we start speaking plain English about the fact that if the goblins wanted it, we could have had a proper collaborative relationship a long time ago, but for the pride and principle of feuds long past. Don’t don’t quote me on any of this, but thanks to naiveté and rushed attempts at atoning for what this time last year was a _completely reasonable_ stance… Well, it really is obscene charity that we are approaching.”

Uncrossing his arms, Malcolm leans back in the chair, weighs on it a little. “Well,” Percy says, measuring his words as he pushes his now empty plate aside, “I don’t think you are wrong that this increased budget to the… is it just the Goblin Rights and Interests League or is it the whole coalition of Beings’ organizations?” Malcolm nods. “I think you are right that it is a matter of optics. Around the time I started working for Fudge he was wringing his hands about cutting into that funding and a lot of the response we got then amounted to ‘money cannot help us if the work we do goes ignored.” He rolls his eyes and Percy in turn ignores it. “That said, you have to admit that now is not the time to make enemies.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm reaches into his outer robe and pulls out a purse, counting out coins in the palm of his hand. “Bought allyship is not worth much, Percy. You have to play the long game. I’m not saying the goblins do not make good allies, they are definitely a force to be reckoned with, not to mention one of the most integrated groups in wizard society. I absolutely think that not re-opening negotiations for political integration sooner was a mistake – hell, if we had, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this position today and the wand-ban wouldn’t be such a holy cow – but there is no use in dwelling on the past and we need to be financially minded if we are serious about fighting another war. Time is running out for playing on the defensive. You have worked with both Fudge and Scrimgeour, you know what a difference a proactive and strong leader makes.”

“If nothing else, he is a much better boss, so I won’t argue with you on that.”

“Glad to hear. Look, I have a meeting to be at, did you make up your mind about chess tonight?”

His mind has been made up for a while now but in true Ministry fashion a hard answer will always be met with suspicion. Malcolm stands up and grabs his cloak. “Sorry, not tonight. Maybe next time.”

“Are you sure? Gavin is bringing some friends from his old job, sounded like he thought you might get along well with at least one of them. Apparently she became a registered animagus at sixteen, he spoke very warmly of her intellect.”

The smirk says it all. Declining it with a genuine smile is somehow the best feeling in the world. Audrey covers the inside walls of his mind to the point where he really does not even care about who Gavin’s friend might be. “I really can’t. Have fun, though.”

“Alright, lunch is on me. See you around, Percy.” Malcolm raises a hand and leaves him behind with the empty china and the pile of coins on the table. He peers out the window to catch a glimpse of the watchmaker’s shop-window, counts the hours, pretends he does not see his dad coming down the street in conversation with a Ministry woman he does not know the name of.

“Tea, sir?”

Mr. Lilaj has crows’ feet to his ears and an Albanian accent that only truly comes to life when he becomes – in his own words – stirred by passion, such as when listening to the Hippogriff races on the radio. “Yes, please. Very nice fish today.”

“I am glad to hear, I have a new chef, see. Brilliant wizard, came to Britain from Romania on his grand tour and wound up staying, very qualified chef.” While Mr. Lilaj chats, the dishes float away towards the kitchen, ducking past a waitress as Percy receives a mug. Mr. Lilaj leans over to fill it for him. “Very qualified, I tell you! I wanted to sell him the restaurant, he was very interested, but refused what I was asking. Madness! It is a prime estate at the centre of the magical world in Britain, I told him! With a good reputation and a good clientele, all a qualified man like himself could wish for to put his name on the map, I told him. He would not have it, very good businessman, lucky him I need the funds! Very well, I said, then I will sell half and you will own half and you will be in charge, then when you see what an embarrassingly good offer I have made you, you will buy the other half from me then.”

Percy wraps his hands around the mug and follows the vivid gesturing of the hand still holding the teapot. “Why are you selling?”

He shrugs. “I am going home for a while. Now I know what you think, you work at the Ministry, of course you have the situation under control. Nothing to be afraid of. However,“ - another swing with the teapot – “when you have lived as long as I have, and when you come from a country like mine, you learn when it is worth it to take chances.”

“It sounds like you are concerned?”

“Concerned? Sir, as long as he-who-must-not-be-named is not in Albania, I have no concerns! They say he was there for a long time and that is something we all knew at home, even if we did not say it loud, so I hope he will not want to return now. I have done my divination, as we all should, and so I have no worries at all for myself as long as he is anywhere but in Albania! But I have my family there.” He finally sends off the teapot in the same direction as the dishes, dropping the coins Malcolm left behind into the pocket of his apron, then gives Percy a warm smile. “England has been good to me, but a man of many fortunes like myself need to see the value even of the things which cannot be measured in gold.”

It is at this moment that Percy realizes that not only is the news of today the history lessons of tomorrow, but that history itself is pressing its nose against the window, breathing heavy down his neck. He reaches out his hand in an attempt to shake the beast off. “Well, I have to wish you the best of luck then, Mr. Lilaj. Diagon Alley won’t be the same without you.”

Mr. Lilaj takes his hand, his grip firm, he is still smiling. “Thank you, sir. Let us hope that I am wrong, so that you may keep that luck for yourself and _your_ home, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the two people who took time out of their day to give this chapter a sensitivity read.


	4. There Are No Limits

Percy is alive. Percy is wearing muggle clothes. Percy is one in the crowd. Percy is dancing. Poorly, admittedly, but who cares? Audrey smiles at him as they move to this absurd and kind of awful electronic-based pop music and sometimes it is a popular song and the club sings along and sometimes it is even popular enough that Percy has heard it before and recognizes it. Surrounded by people she is the only one who sees him. _Show me how good you are_ she mouths at him through the noise. Laughing, taking his hand, inviting him to play along. It is bewildering. He has tumbled out of the magical world and into this secret that for his whole life has been hidden in plain sight, this wide expense that for once is not defined by its edges, a space wherein he is not seen by anyone but this one person who matters. He is utterly overcome by it. Perhaps because it was so long since last time he did anything that could be constituted as playful. She hooks her arms around his neck and forces him to lean down to meet her.

It is not magic, but electricity, the same pulse running through not just him but those around him. Magic is a gift, to a family or an individual, a gift which he understands and controls. Though still incomprehensible, he is learning to recognize the spark and jolt of electricity, realizing that it is intuitive and ever-present. Unifying. Shared. A whole different type of mystery. Her fingers brush over his collar. The static bites and pulls him closer. Not magic - electricity.

* * *

“What are you so afraid of?” Audrey breaks the kiss. The kiss which he had intended to be tender and romantic, though restrained, but which had quickly gotten out of his hands. Audrey is standing two steps up from him so that their faces are leveled, holding his face in her hands, observing him with great care.

“What?” His voice feels out of breath and it makes him very aware of his blush.

She smiles, but it is sympathetic rather than joyful. “Sorry, I was just thinking- Percy if you don’t want to…”

Silence. He feels her thumbs brush over the edge of his sideburns. “If I don’t want to…?”

Audrey braces herself before trying again. The night is cool. Down the street there is the sound of the living city. “You have had a very… unusual upbringing.” He nods to urge her to continue. “I don’t understand it. Even if you could tell me what… group or what religion or whatever it is, I don’t think I would, but what I do understand is that for all that I have known you, you seem like you don’t want to dwell on it. I propose something and you say ‘I have never done that, but I want to try it.” Percy nods again, though admittedly it feels like he knows less and less about where she is going. “But you don’t want to follow me home.”

“Oh.”

“And I just want to know what that is about.”

Percy falters. He has no idea. The thought has never even occurred to him. It is as if the muggle world is a dream, an amusement park filled with the most elaborate sets and convincing actors but actors and sets nonetheless, nothing but painted plywood once you go through the door. As he thinks the thought that Audrey’s button nose and clever eyes are so perfectly in his eyes that she might as well be an actor, he realizes that perhaps he has it all the wrong way around, that maybe the assumption that none of this was of any real consequence made it easier to dive headfirst into it.

A police car passes on the street behind him, sirens off but lights on, with the blue flashes lighting up Audrey’s face and catching in her hair. It makes her look vibrant: her dark skin reflects the synthetic lights of the muggle world in a way that makes him wonder if neons and LEDs were not made for her and her alone. He imagines her vibrancy in the warm light of candles, lanterns, and fireplaces. She pulls back to watch it and turns back as Percy realizes he should probably have replied. When she leans in again she rests her forehead against his and the sensation makes his soul ache with the realization that all of this is real. “If you don’t want to… If there are hard limits, I can understand that, but I need to know.” The words fail him. He can write court documents and reports and briefings that not a single diplomat could object to but speaking to a woman he likes is impossible. How does he tell her that London’s streets were always the one place where their worlds intersected by necessity? That just how Diagon Alley was always out of bounds to her, he always assumed that he was physically unable to cross the threshold into her home, that her secrets must be as big and forbidden as his? Even though his voice is locked and bolted at risk of giving up the one secret his whole society has held for millennia, his hands move from her waist to her back, palms and fingers spreading over the small of it and across her shoulders under the jacket. On his cheeks, her hands are cool and tense. “Percy… I want you to come inside with me. If that means we are up all night or if you sleep on the couch or if we have a cuppa and you leave in an hour… but if you do not at least give me a chance to understand what _this_ is, what you want, then I am not sure I can keep doing it.”

In other words, nothing else matters. He tears his eyes away from her lips and embraces her. He pulls their bodies tight together and breathes her in. She was wearing perfume before but he can no longer make it out from the rest of her. There is now only one thing that is both true and uncomplicated: he wants to be the kind of person who follows Audrey home. In fact, there is nothing he wants more than to follow her home. So that is what he tells her.

This is how Percy not only enters the muggle world but also for the first time truly exits the magical one. In Audrey’s flat, whatever magic there is has absolutely nothing to do with the Ministry or the N.E.W.T.s or grindylogs or Gamp’s law. Correction: electricity, not magic. He still has secrets he keeps from her, but they become immaterial in the light of the two of them being part of the same world, a world where he shares her complete indifference to concepts such as wizard or muggle.

It is not until years later that he realizes that the crossing of this threshold, the dismissal of the largest secret in the magical world as “immaterial”, is a tradition honoured by thousands of witches and wizards before him.


	5. He is a Gryffindor Through and Through

Despite being each others' lone roommates for seven years, Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood had not remained close friends for long. They had briefly discussed doing their grand tour together after graduation and had even spent a solid ten minutes sobbing together on the floor as they finished cleaning out the dormitory, though either of them would sooner proclaim wizard cricket as the peak of magical achievement before admitting it to anyone else. The grand tour fell through, Percy got a job at the Ministry, and the last time the two of them spoke was at the Quidditch World Cup.

That said: Percy would recognize the voice of an enraged Oliver Wood anywhere.

He had heard it after paying a visit to the Office of Magical Propaganda and Public Communication to request a report for the Minister’s office, outlining the potential risks of some of the suggestions that had come from the Auror Office in response to heightening inter-magical tensions, all together making for a confusing contrast to an affect he associated with the announcement that Snape would be judging an important Gryffindor game.

“…four, let me say that again, _four_ unicorns! Vanished! Do you hear me, Hobb?”

“Mr. Wood I implore you-“

“Because I don’t know that I am making myself clear here! Do you know what happens when a _beast_ kills a unicorn? There are remains, because unicorns are _massive_ , Hobb! Even a dragon isn’t gonna eat that whole, no dragon we would not know about, I’ll tell you that much! Maybe you should come with us out into the woods sometime, see the creatures you’re supposed to care for, might be helpful.”

“Mr. Wood-“

“But I suppose you desk wizards are good at budgets and math so maybe you’d care to help me out with this one? Let’s see now, four full grown unicorns, gone without a trace within a six-month period. Hm, that sure is a lot of unicorn blood, I wonder who could have any use for that? Then add two muggle murders and the holiday manor of a notable wizard supremacist just around the corner, both of which the Ministry refuses to investigate, I just cannot get it to add up!”

“Oliver?” He whips right around at the sound of Percy calling on him. Jacob Hobb jumps a little in his chair and looks at Percy with suspicion. Never the subtle one, expressions of confusion, surprise, and finally a subdued resentment plays over Oliver's face. Percy notes the mid-length outer robe in leather, a fresh scar on the side of his face, as well as the dried mud on his boots. Hobb takes the moment to regain his place in the conversation Percy just interrupted.

“Mr. Wood, I understand your frustration, but this behaviour will not be tolerated. You and your colleagues are contractors of the Ministry and as such you represent us-“

“And gee whiz am I glad to, Hobb, maybe then when the death eaters come walking into this place they’ll give me a medal for supplying them with an army’s worth of unicorn blood!”

“ _Mr. Wood._ ”

“Mr. Hobb, excuse me-“

“Is this a friend of yours, Mr. Weasley?” Hobb’s face has the shade of a ripe plum, matching his robe and reaching all the way up his bald scalp, his hand having just reached his wand. Presumably with the intent of calling on security.

Percy meets Oliver’s eyes for a moment but does not linger on trying to decipher the expression in the case that Oliver might raise his voice again. “We shared a dorm for seven years. Oliver- Mr. Wood is a Gryffindor through and through and while I was not here to hear the initial exchange I do-“

“I don’t need _your_ help.”

It is said with a composed vitriol that takes Percy out of it for a moment, but quietly enough that Hobb does not catch on to it until Percy pauses. “…What I want to say,” he continues, suddenly entirely unsure of what he is trying to achieve, “is that while I have known him to be of short temper, this is because he is passionate and resilient. While this makes him a skilled wizard and broomsman...” As well as proud. Continuing, he turns his attention to Oliver, speaking through a tight jaw. “I am sure that he is _enough_ of a wizard to recognize that it does not necessarily make for the most compelling rhetoric, such as the one I just heard, as well as sensible enough to make sure he leaves this matter on a dignified note.” Oliver just crosses his arms and tilts his head, his eyes fixed on Percy, who is becoming steadily more aware of the curious glances of passer-byes peering into the office. Hobb drops the wand on his desk with a shake of his head. “Am I wrong, Oliver?”

* * *

“I take it you’ve been in touch with my family, then?”

Oliver shrugs in response and tilts his broom against the empty table next to theirs. It is a very early lunch by Percy’s standards and the upper room of _Merlin’s Pocket_ is almost empty. Aside from him and Oliver, there is a young goblin reading by the window, a witch with a small child, and two witches and a wizard in hushed conversation over a proverbial mountain of empty teacups and precariously piled divination books. “Charlie and I have spoken a few times. By pure chance, really. We have business with him on occasion.”

He notes that Oliver’s accent seems to have thickened in general and in the same moment realizes that it has been almost three years. “Oh, because you are with the Department of-“

“Contracted by, but yes, not that a dragon would know the difference.”

A silence follows, mercifully interrupted before becoming all too awkward when the waitress comes to serve them their pies. Oliver looks out the window and down onto the street of Diagon Alley, holding his glass of stout by his lips. “I didn’t know you wanted to work with creatures.”

“I don’t work much with the creatures, really. It’s a ranger job, so I do a lot of flying and walking and generally keeping an eye out.” He shrugs again and gets to work on his pie. “It keeps me out of doors and close to home.”

“And quidditch…?”

This question awards Percy with a quick look which he is incapable of deciphering. Pity, perhaps. “We can’t all be the same people we were at school, Perce.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Am I? Maybe I misunderstood, but lap dog to the top chief and eager to put your nose in other people’s business? Blind trust in the people with the power? Rationalising any idiotic rule for rule’s sake rather than risk losing your position?” Another silence follows. Perhaps Percy’s inability to respond is what softens Oliver’s body language and with a sigh he leans back against the chair before breaking the silence. “Puddlemere didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear.”

“Don’t be. It’s just not the time right now, that’s all. Keepers age well. You?”

“At this rate? I’ll lose my hair before my dad does.”

Oliver snorts. “Yeah? I saw him in the Atrium, you’ll have to put in some serious work for that, but you didn't hear me say it. You didn’t actually believe what you told them, did you?”

The thousand-galleon question. Percy’s jaw tenses up involuntarily. Their relationship was always based on an unabashed openness and a no-questions-barred policy, which may very well just have been a consequence of two boys growing up together in a close shared living space, because it now seems like a distant and foreign notion. “I don’t think it matters. The situation was more complex than that.”

“You politician, you.” He says it with equal parts disdain and humour. “Want to use that diplomatic prowess of yours for a good cause?” Percy raises an eyebrow and Oliver leans in, lowering his voice as he continues. “So, unicorns. The short of it is that we’re having a massive surge in poachers. Our job is to prevent and then gather evidence if, or when, it happens. The Ministry have been ignoring our sounding the bell for months now because…” He blows a raspberry and makes a vague hand gesture. “Working on your PR, I guess. Anyway, we’re already underfunded to begin with but we’ve managed to carry out an investigation on our own, unfortunately we don’t have the mandate to carry it out any further. Hobb’s got the report and request for assistance we put together for him, unless that little roach has tossed it on the fire already, which wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I admit, he is quite conservative, but he _is_ on our side. I would be careful saying things like that.”

“Whose side, Percy?”

“What do you mean ‘whose side’? The right side, of course. The Ministry’s side. Working against he-who-must-not-be-named.”

“The side of mostly old-money, almost exclusively old-magic wizard families, with an internal supermajority opposing the reform or removal of the wand-ban? The side that for years ignored any hint that you-know-who might be planning his return because it was politically inconvenient? The side which has how many people on their payroll for routinely and systematically doing memory wipes on muggles?”

“That is an unfortunate but necessary consequence of-“

“I’m just saying, Percy. You’re a smart guy. Maybe more than one wizard within the Ministry has good reason to not interfere with you-know-who’s minions stockpiling unicorn blood. Maybe the Ministry doesn’t particularly care about the wellbeing and integrity of non-magical people.”

“You’re being conspiratorial, Oliver. That’s why this whole system is set up, to reduce friction between the magical and non-magical world, which you know as well as I do has worked much better than any other system. Many of us in the Ministry have close connections to muggles so to say that we do not care for their wellbeing is simply not true. Especially those of us who live in the muggle parts of London - frankly, most of my friends outside of work are muggles." At this last comment Oliver raises an eyebrow at him. "What, just because I grew up in a magical community?"

"I wasn't expecting you to hang out with people who you couldn't impress with your impeccable never-refill quill charm. Or with being buddy buddy with the minister of magic himself for that matter." Percy feels his ears heat up with blush. While he is keenly aware that "most" is in this case a quite small number, the belief that he is making things up wholesale takes him straight back to the prefects' common room, pretending he is not listening to the gossip and then confessing to Oliver on their way back to the dorms that he and Penelope Clearwater have actually been going together for a few weeks now and please do not tell anyone about it. The memory is so vivid that was it not for Olivers sideburns going all the way down to his chin now he might get lost in it.

"I'll have you know," Percy says through a tight jaw, "that the girl I am seeing likes me perfectly well despite being in complete ignorance of my magical abilities."

So maybe it is just that wave of nostalgia that does it, or perhaps they were never quite so estranged from their old friendship as would be convenient, but the expression of surprise and curiosity and subdued glee that lights up Oliver's face immediately tears down any walls between them. "Huh. Haven't been seeing her that long then?"

He cannot help but smile. "Just a few weeks proper. We met in January. February? She is... quite something."

"Figures, if she's managed to get between you and your career, mate."

"She is a welcome _distraction_ from work," Oliver returns Percy's pointed look with a smirk, "it really is quite nice to be with someone who has no idea who you are or what others think of you. Someone to whom my name means nothing. It is liberating. Don't look at me like that, Oliver, you know what I mean."

"Not really. I never had a problem with who I am."

A silence falls between them. Percy reaches for his glass to buy himself some time to choose his words before this moment of rekindled trust between them slips out of his hands. "I made the choices I made," he then says, "with the information I had, with as much good will as I could manage. I am not saying it was the right decision, but I did what I had to do to be able to live with myself and if the response I received had been different then, maybe things would be different today. That said, she has been more generous to me than anyone in my family or any of my magical friends have been in a long, long time."

"What do you mean generous?" He says it quickly and in a way that makes Percy think he is actively steering them away from the implications that were just tossed at him. It is a peace offering which he is eager to accept.

"She is..." This is when he realizes that he has not actually spoken about Audrey with anyone until now. "She assumes the best of me. Of people in general. She knows that to a degree I am not of her world, but she invites me into it nonetheless, tells me why she cares for it and why she hopes I might too. She invites me to meet her friends and to take part of her life and she knows that I would do the same if I could but she has never once demanded more of me than I was able to tell her."

"So what did you tell her?"

Percy pushes his plate aside and glances at the trio at the other end of the room who are now packing up their books. A few more guests have entered the café since they began talking. "Nothing that wasn't true. That I am estranged from my family, that I was mostly home schooled, that my whole life has been spent in a culture outside of the one she knows. She thinks I was in a cult."

Oliver blows a raspberry and leans back against the wall. His arms cross behind his head. "Fuckin' 'ell, mate."

"If this lasts I will talk to her. Eventually." Oliver’s knuckles tap against the wall behind him and his eyes dart from Percy to the other guests to the street below them outside the window. He seems to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Will you be seeing Fred and George before going back north?"

"If they're available. We don’t really keep in touch but I heard business is going well. Why?"

"I don't expect it to come up but I would prefer it if you kept this between the two of us." Oliver raises an eyebrow. "We haven't been together for very long and you know I always preferred keeping my privacy when it comes to these things." His words about the Ministry seems to have lodged themselves between Percy's ribs in a way that makes them impossible to ignore and Percy has a feeling that the steady gaze sees straight through him. Maybe the Ministry does not particularly care for the wellbeing and integrity of muggles.

"Of course," he replies with a shrug. Easiest thing in the world. The signs suggest that this meeting is not going to ignite an intense owl-correspondence between the two of them.

"I will ask Hobbs about that report," he adds, feeling flustered again for reasons he does not particularly feel like exploring. "I need to make a visit to the aurors' office anyhow so I am sure I will have the opportunity to ask them to get in touch with you directly if you would prefer that."

The offer is accepted and they sit in companionable silence for a bit as the café begins to fill up with lunch guests. Finally, Oliver breaks the silence: "Also, Perce," he says, reaching for his cloak as they both stand up, "you know I'm not great with words, but... Don't make yourself dumber than you are, alright?"

They part with a firm but somewhat cautious handshake. Percy notes it down in his journal later that night to get it out of his brain: Do not make yourself dumber than you are. Maybe the Ministry does not particularly care for muggles. Whose side, Percy?


End file.
